


Prompt Me

by un-shit-yourself (fenix_down)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Fallout 4, Mass Effect
Genre: Anders and Izzy running a food truck, Anders in tiny shorts, Angst, Bad Art, Car washing, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hawke no, Hawke's Battle Shorts, Hospitalization, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied threesomes, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:18:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 14,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4949887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenix_down/pseuds/un-shit-yourself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted Tumblr prompts of a non-smut variety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anders/Justice - for skasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ask prompt for [skasha](http://skasha.tumblr.com/).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _skasha asked:  
>  How about justanders fluff or smut? Prompt: a pleasant scent :)_

Autumn in Kirkwall was just like all the other seasons, if a little chillier in the mornings. It was only when one left the city and ventured into actual nature that they could tell the change in the weather by the color of leaves and the briskness in the air.

Anders hadn’t been outside of the city in weeks; the clinic was overloaded from a bout of influenza, Hawke was busy trying to find “misplaced” Qunari diplomats somewhere inside Lowtown, and the manifesto constantly needed revising. He wouldn’t have dared to venture out alone anyway, and so the pull of duties and responsibilites made him forget about the passage of time beyond lighting and blowing out the latern outside the door.

Then one of his patients returned with a gift; a small piece of warm gingerbread, carefully wrapped in a cloth. “Ma said it was for you, for my fever,” the boy said, handing it out to Anders and smiling. “She bakes for the stalls in Hightown, but they won’t miss it.”

Anders accepted it graciously, the smell of it triggering something long hidden and nostalgic that made him smile. Justice felt the change in his mood and examined the memories curiously; trees with branches drooping from the weight of red and gold leaves, the scratch of wool against skin, and the smell of spices in a warm kitchen. _Home, comfort, warmth_. Anders didn’t have a chance to eat until the treat had gone cold and slightly stale, but he kept the cloth it was wrapped in and held it to his nose, the smell doing more to please him than the food itself.

Justice was aware that memories held the ability to invoke strong emotions, but hadn’t known that something so simple as a smell could do so much for his host’s mental state. He reached for it questioningly, and after checking to ensure they were alone, Anders allowed him to come forward just enough to let the sharp smell of ginger and cinnamon surround him. He laughed at Justice’s surprised snort and set the rag down.

And when Anders awoke in confusion and panic from a nightmare, sweating and curled in a ball on his cot, Justice soothed him with the remembered scent of gingerbread. so clear he could almost taste it, and wrapped him in waves of _home_ and _comfort_. Anders breathed a light chuckle, allowing himself to be pulled into that warmth, and kissed his fingers in appreciation.


	2. Anders/Fenris - for warriormaggie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ask prompt for [warriormaggie.](http://warriormaggie.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >   
> _warriormaggie said:_  
>  Fenders or Handers fluff…you can take it however you like…smutty or whatnot…but it has to be fluffy.  
> 

They had been in Denerim for a month, and Hawke’s flippant suggestion of “hiding in plain sight” seemed to be working, as no one noticed or cared when one of the ramshackle houses near the Alienage became occupied by two humans and an elf, and they were glad to be swept aside with the other faceless souls who lived in the crowded block.

Hawke had taken a long time to be comfortable in leaving them alone, but he’d also hated staying shut in and living in trepidation. Fenris had finally convinced him to go take an odd job or two at the Gnawed Noble. This current one had him out until the next day, doing some labor work at the docks, and so Fenris was alone with Anders for the evening. Well, with Anders and the ball of fur that he’d brought in from somewhere filthy.

“It smells worse than the dog,” he said, frowning.

Anders ignored him and continued fussing over the cat. “Don’t listen to him,” he said in an amusingly sing-song voice. “He’s just a big grumpy elf.” He smoothed the wet cloth over its fur, which was becoming less muddy with each swipe, revealing black stripes in its grey coat.

“Just give it a bath.”

“Cats hate being bathed, she’d claw me to death.” Anders looked over at him, smirking. “Unless you want to do it?”

“I do not. I was merely offering suggestions.” Fenris watched as the creature stretched languidly and nuzzled against Anders’ hand. “You are keeping it, then?”

“Her, and yes. She’s all alone. She could use a warm place to sleep.”

“And I thought Hawke was the only one who enjoyed collecting strays,” Fenris said, which earned him a small laugh. “I don’t believe he’d want you to fill house with cats.”

“Well I believe he can deal with it,” Anders replied. The cat was done with Anders’ fussing and had taken over the bathing herself. “She needs a name.”

“‘Annoyance.’”

Anders sighed. “I was thinking more 'Miss Daisy.’ Her markings… they remind me of Merrill.”

“Good, not only a cat, but a blood-mage cat.” Fenris said it with more disdain than he meant, and regretted it when he saw Anders’ face. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know.” He waved a hand, dismissively. “You never do.”

There was silence for a few moments, and Fenris looked at Anders and the now-familiar look of guilt in his eyes. “I, too, miss them, even the blood mage. We will see them again.”

“Perhaps.” Anders rose and went to the bedroom without looking at him.

The cat looked up from her bathing and watched him go, then trotted after him, her tail in the air. When Fenris came to bed, she was curled up against Anders’ head on his pillow. The elf gently eased under the blanket so as not to disturb them, and spooned against his back. He pat the cat on the head gently, then put his arm over Anders’ chest.

“Goodnight, Miss Daisy,” he mumbled, and he felt Anders chuckle against him.


	3. Anders/MHawke - for kinloch-ho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ask prompt for [kinloch-ho](http://kinloch-ho.tumblr.com). In which Hawke gets nailed in the face, Anders is an ER nurse, and Fenris is like “just kill me ffs.”
> 
> Also part of the I Say Fever universe :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >   
> _kinloch-ho asked:_  
>  If you're looking for prompts I'd love to see something Handersy, no real preference for AU or not (but I wouldn't turn down some more fire mage appreciation <3 you started it, you can deal with the consequences of your actions!)  
> 

Moved to [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5389412/chapters/12448367), kept this for the reference in case people missed it. *shrug*


	4. Anders/MHawke - for mevima

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for a [prompt](http://un-shit-yourself.tumblr.com/post/131132335798/oh-whats-wrong-sweatpea-isabela-crooned-to) from an "FML" post that mevima found.

“Oh, what’s wrong, sweatpea?” Isabela crooned to Hawke.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, frowning into his mug.

“You can tell Auntie Pirate anything,” she said, putting an arm around his shoulders.

“It isn’t that I ‘can’t’, it’s that I don’t want to.”

“Well, it must be something naughty then.” She tapped her finger against her lips. “Mage problems?”

Hawke grumbled again, making a noise that sounded like “Argh.”

“Haven’t had a chance to swab his deck yet?” She didn’t need to say who the “he” respresented.

“It’s been a while since there was any… swabbing.” Hawke made a face. “I never want to say that sentence again, by the way.”

“These things come back to you easily, love.” She patted his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Hawke eyed her sidelong. “Can you… uh.” She waited with an eyebrow raised while he gestured aimlessly, “You know.” He glanced around, pointed his fingers at his open mouth. “All the way?”

“We really are aiming high aren’t we?” Isabela laughed. Hawke hit her in the shoulder. “Kidding. It’s cute. And also hot. And to answer, yes. Would you like a lesson?”

“No, I want advice,” Hawke replied. “I can’t do it.”

“Well, you just have to relax, and take a deep breath, and…. Anders!”

Hawke’s face turned three colors as the mage came into sight. “Bela, I beg you.”

“Hush, I’m a professional.” She winked at Hawke, and turned to the mage as he approached. “Evening, Gorgeous. Want to do a magic trick for us?”

Hawke debated bashing his own head in with his mug. Anders looked between them curiously. “Dare I ask?”

“Don’t,” Hawke insisted.

“Lovely Hawke here made a bet with me that I was the only proper ‘sword-swallower’ in the bar,” she said, winking. “I want to prove him wrong.”

Anders blinked at her, then blushed. “Ah,” he said. He looked at Hawke, eyebrow raised, smirking slightly. “’Sword-swallower?’” 

“Her term, I said nothing about it. Completely unwarranted conversation topic.” Hawke shrugged nonchalantly and took a sip of his drink.

“Well, if only there was a sword around to swallow…”

The mouthful of ale flew out of Hawke’s mouth and Isabela clapped his back helpfully. “Poor dear, he’s very concerned about losing money.” She unhooked a dagger from her belt, keeping it inside it’s leather sheath. “How’s this?” she asked, holding it up.

“Do I even want to know where that’s been?” Anders looked at it skeptically.

“I always use protection, darling, I clean it and everything. And it’s properly sheathed for you.” She giggled. Hawke made a strangled noise in his throat.

Anders took the dagger from her, eyed it, and looked at Hawke, who was already red-faced from the conversation. “The things I do for you, Hawke,” he said, and winked.

He flipped the dagger between his fingers, tipped his head back, and took the hilt in his mouth, sliding his lips down the thick, leather-wrapped shaft to the guard. He made a soft noise between a moan and a chuckle, arched an eyebrow at Hawke, and slowly withdrew the handle. Hawke’s clenched fingers bent the cheap metal of his drinking mug.

Isabela clapped her hands and squealed in glee. “I’ll never wash that dagger again.”

“Flatterer,” Anders said, rolling his eyes. “So,” he turned his gaze to Hawke, “seems like you owe Isabela something.”

“You bet I do,” Hawke replied, still staring at Anders’ mouth. “She’ll get what’s coming to her, don’t worry.”

“Lucky her,” Anders replied. He licked his lips.

Hawke’s eyes widened, and Isabela stepped back and out of the way as he surged forward and grabbed Anders by his coat and dragged him towards the door.

“Remember Hawke, deep breaths!” she called out after him, cackling.


	5. Dorian and Anders - For Kess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick one for [kess](ketzaleh.tumblr.com) who really wanted some Anders asked for Dorian meeting the feathermage. Follows my own headcanon and storylines.

“Is it true, then?”

The voice startled Anders, and he turned to see the Tevinter magister leaning against a shelf, watching him. Anders had only exchanged a few words with him, and with Fenris bristling next to him the entire time, he’d made the conversation short.

“Is what true?” Anders replied, facing him.

Dorian chuckled. “You’re quite cautious, which is understandable, but I assure you I don’t bite. At least, not unless I have permission to.” He eyed Anders appreciatively, then shook his head. “But I feel I won’t be so lucky.”

“Ah, a flirtatious, charming mage. Such a rarity these days.” Anders smirked. “Shame I’m out of practice.”

“I’d be more than happy to get you back into the routines, if you like.”

“Depends on what you’re asking in return.” Justice buzzed in his mind, but he sent a soothing thought in return. He needed to know if this magister was dangerous. The Inquisitor’s apparent infatuation could be misplaced; Trevelyan had so much going for him, and it would be a shame for everything to end before it could be properly fixed.

“I just wanted to know if it was true,” Dorian said, simply. “Aside from you actually being him, which no one has actually confirmed, but I have suspicions. I’ve heard all sorts of things: healer, rebel, abomination, Warden, terrorist, savior. Which of those are you, really?”

“I’m a lot of things, Magister. What would you like me to be?”

The other man laughed. “Call me Dorian, please. I hold no title in Ferelden, save ‘Apostate.’ Much like yourself.”

“I would hardly call us equals, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Of course not, _I_ don’t have two gorgeous men to sleep between every night.”

Anders smirked. “They’re quite protective.”

“I know, which is why I’d love for the exceptionally beautiful elf in the shadows to please reconsider killing me, because blood would be _so_ hard to get out of the books.”

Anders wasn’t surprised when Fenris appeared, then moved to stand between the two of them. “We should be going,” the elf said, keeping his eyes on the magister.

“As long as we’re done here, I don’t want all of this back-and-forth to be for nothing.” Anders put a hand on Fenris’ arm, though, to reassure him.

“I suppose so,” Dorian said. “Though I’d love to hear your own opinion, and not the lies Varric spins to keep everyone appeased.”

Anders looked at Fenris, then back to Dorian. “I’m just trying to help.” Fenris glared at Dorian suspiciously as they retreated down the stairs, but the magister didn't follow.


	6. Justice/Anders/Fenris/MHawke - for renegadechristie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask prompt for [renegadechristie](http://renegadechristie.tumblr.com) who is a buttlord and this is literally all that I could bring myself to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _renegadechristie asked:_  
>  oi shitlord i want a crack fic with the ot4- justice, fenris, hawke, and anders and it better be the worst shit you can write. i want it all. bonus points if you refer to anyone having "military-trained dolphin-like intensity" but i will take any kink, any thing you got. this is your free pass to be fucking absurd. or absurdly fucked. whatever! chip chop chip!

Varric stares at the pages he’s been handed, sets them down as if they’re infected with the plague and contagious, and then looks up at Hawke. “No.”

“Oh, come on!” Hawke says. “Isabela brings you friend-fiction all the time.”

“Isabela brings me good friend-fiction that I can do something with. This… this is garbage. And, now that I think about it, physically impossible. Also, I think the elf will actually kill you if he finds out you wrote this about him and Blondie.”

“It’s okay, Fenris can’t read.”

Varric puts his hand against his forehead. “Why would you even think that was a valid argument? Aren’t you _teaching_ him to read?”

“Not from _this_ , Maker, I’m not an idiot.”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

“What’s so bad about it?”

Varric looks at him incredulously, then when he realizes Hawke is serious, he sighs and picks up the pages. “Apart from the fact that you don’t know what a comma is and don’t know how to spell…”

“I can spell the important words,” Hawke says, frowning.

Varric carries on, ignoring him. “…you’ve invented at least three words and I can’t even determine which body part from _who_ is going _where_.” He points to a paragraph with obvious distaste. “Also, this dialogue wouldn’t even fly in Orlais. ‘The beautiful mage begged, “Take me, Champion! Impale me with your love!”’

“Okay, maybe I invented one word,” Hawke agrees. He picks up Varric’s quill and a blank piece of paper, and starts drawing. “I still stand by the dialogue.”

“‘Elfhood’?” Varric looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What, Fenris is an elf, not a man. Can’t be ‘manhood,’ right?”

“I admit, I’m a little impressed by your originality with that one, but… wait, what are you drawing?”

“A diagram. To clear up confusion. I’m here, this is Anders, and this is gonna be Fenris.”

“Hawke, I am not putting stick-figure erotica into something I’d publish.”

“Well, that’s just you being narrow-minded.”

“I don’t even know if I have a target audience that could contain you without it bankrupting me.”

Hawke pushes the crude drawing towards Varric. He’s helpfully included arrows, names, motion-lines, crudely drawn anatomy, even some (Varric assumes) “lightning” to show Anders’ spirit-half. “Better?”

“Ancestors, I don’t have enough money to cover a tab that would erase this from my memory.”

“Whatever, you’re just jealous of my creativity.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely it,” Varric says, scoffing.

The dwarf manages to talk Hawke out of pursuing a career in writing, and the drawing is forgotten until the next Wicked Grace night, when Isabela finds it crumpled under the table and declares that she’s going to have it framed. 

Merrill spends the next ten minutes making uncomfortable comments, ranging from “I thought Fenris had a larger sword” and “That doesn’t look very comfortable for Anders.”

Anders turns bright red on seeing the sketch and says, “Maybe not, but it does look like fun.” 

Varric ignores Hawke’s pleas to save him when Fenris chases the rogue down the hall with an empty wine bottle. 

After agreeing as a group to never mention it again, the ‘art’ is somehow discovered in the Chantry donation box, and Sebastian can’t look any of them in the eye for a week.


	7. MHawke/Anders, Justice, Circle Lullabye - for mevima

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask prompt from [mevima](http://mevima.tumblr.com), click [here](http://mevima.tumblr.com/post/132511349295/every-culture-has-lullabyes-even-the-circle) to listen to the lullabye in her lovely voice. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: abuse mention, tranquility reference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _mevima asked:_  
>  Prompt: Each Circle has its own lullabyes to sing to the new arrivals. "Don't run, the Templars will find you / Don't run, they'll know where you are / Don't run, just be a good mageling / Keep your head down, you're safe where you are / Keep your head down, you'll never get far"

Anders can’t remember who first sings to him, but he remembers that first night in the Circle, feeling alone and terrified, curled in a ball in strange robes on an unfamiliar bed. There are whispers around him and giggles, the other children mocking him for being afraid, for not speaking, for not having a name. Then someone comes into the room, telling the children to hush. Not a templar; there’s no clang of metal and cold, detached growls. This voice is kind but commanding, and the children hurry to their own beds.

The woman sits on his bed, and he flinches a little, but her hand is soothing on his back. She’s not his mother, and he doesn’t imagine that she is, but her presence still makes him relax a little. She sings to him and the others, and there must be magic in her voice, because he’s calm and asleep soon after.

_Don’t run, the Templars will find you_

The lullabye is a warning, a promise of safety and security within the bars of Kinloch, and Anders grows to hate it once he pays attention to the words. He takes it as a challenge. His first escape is laughable; he’s out with the other apprentices picking herbs, and wanders a bit away without realizing that no one is watching. Adrenaline kicks in and he’s off, with no plan and nothing save his robes and the satchel of blood lotus around his shoulder. He’s caught quickly and made example of, whipped with a switch taken from a nearby tree along with the lazy templars who should have kept watch. They catch up with him later, back at the tower, and no one questions his black eye and split lip. He’s too young to know he should be thankful that’s all they do.

_Don’t run, they’ll know where you are_

Anders learns of every punishment the templars can inflict on a mage in his years in the Circle, save two: tranquility and death. At times he prays for the latter, but the former is always terrifying. The fear keeps him behaved until he’s forgotten as only a delinquent; until they remember how rare spirit healers are, so that by the time he escapes they track him down with intent to capture, not kill. Not brand.

_Don’t run, just be a good mageling_

Justice asks him why he keeps making those noises while he makes potions, and Anders laughs and explains what “humming” is. The spirit manages to mimic him a little, though Justice is beyond tone-deaf. He asks what the melody means, and Anders explains lullabyes and how they’re made to comfort children.

“Sing it for me,” Justice says. After looking around the Keep’s clinic to verify that they’re alone, the mage complies.

“Oh come on, I’m not that bad,” Anders says when Justice scowls.

“Your performance was excellent. I question the meaning of the words. How is such a thing a comfort to children?”

“Well, little mages do need to get warned about the big, bad templars.”

“So you warn as an act of comfort? I don’t understand.”

Anders tries to explain it, but it ends up like many of their conversations, with him getting dizzy from trying to define reasons behind mortal behavior and Justice asking questions he never thought (or wanted to think) before.

“Do you know others?” Justice finally asks, after Anders told him to change the subject.

“Why, so you can question them too?”

“No, I find your voice pleasing.”

Anders blushes a little, embarrassed, but sings another one. The spirit watches in that unblinking way the mage thought unnerving at first, but he’s gotten used to it and almost finds it comforting, that someone (or something) is always looking out for him now.

_Keep your head down, you’re safe where you are_

Hawke didn’t grow up in the Circle, but he knows a similar lullabye that his father used to sing from his youth. It’s the same melody with different words, less ominous, and Anders is again made aware of how very different their upbringings were.

“I like yours better,” Anders says one night, with his head in Hawke’s lap.

“We can rewrite the words, you know.” The other mage twists Anders’ hair between his fingers. “‘Don’t run, just sneak out the back way.’”

Anders snorts and shakes his head. “Somehow, I don’t think the templars would like that version.”

“Sod ‘em, not their song. Oh, we could make one in code, with escape instructions.” Hawke grins down at him. “We could make it sound naughty so they wouldn’t think anything was up.”

“Garrett, lullabyes are for _children_.”

“Don’t tell me they didn’t have naughty rhymes in the Circle, we sang those all the time, as long as Mother wasn’t around.”

“Well, if you tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.” Anders wiggles his eyebrows, and Hawke smirks and leans down for a kiss.

_Keep your head down, you’ll never get far_

Ash swirls around Anders, and the only thing in his head is the repeating melody of the lullabye. All those nightmares and escapes, the rage and fear and loneliness, the constant storm of emotions is silent now in his mind, except for that. Even Justice seems to be thinking about it, and Anders can almost hear an echo over the verses he remembers. He mouths the words silently, looking at the blackened sky.

_Raise your head high, show them who you are_


	8. Hawke and Bela's List of Butts - for draco-illius-noctis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ask prompt from [draco-illius-noctis](http://draco-illius-noctis.tumblr.com) that went over the top ridiculous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _draco-illius-noctis asked:_  
>  I want a fic of Hawke rating everyone's butts from best to worst.

Varric is used to finding assorted crap in his room after Wicked Grace nights, but the folded piece of paper under his chair looks purposefully left for him. On the front it says “FOR THE NEXT BOOK” in Isabela’s handwriting. He unfolds it with a sense of unease, and once his eyes adjust to the badly scratched parchment, he reads two dueling ink scribbles:

_HAWKE AND BE ~~L~~ LA’S LIST OF AMAZING BUTTS  
(there’s only ONE L you idiot)_

_WORST_  
_Meredith - probably (really) hairy and gross_  
_Orsino - saggy and gross_  
_Sebastian - good but attached to a nughumper (gags help)_  
_Corff - overall gross_  
_That one guy that keeps trying too hard (why is he still trying????)_  
_Cullen - never takes off armor, who knows?  
_ _(virginal butts are the best)_

_BEST_  
__~~Anders Bela Anders Bela Anders Bela hawke stop it NO- ANDERS~~  
_ANDERS - his ass is magical_  
__~~BELA hawke NO IT’S ME okay~~ BELA - queen of butts  
_Fenris - i bet it’s tattooed_  
_HAWKE - 100% pure beef_  
_Merrill - it’s so adorable!_  
_Varric - he would bounce if you dropped him_  
__~~Beth~~ NO  
__~~Beth~~ NO  
_~~BETH~~ NO  
_ _~~BETHANY~~ NOPE_

There's a crudely drawn stick figure pair which has “H + A” and a heart written above it.

_haha nice dress  
it’s a ROBE_

A large ink stain dots the parchment next to the art.

_now look what you did  
IT LOOKS LIKE A DRAGON!!!_

Varric sighs loudly, though no one can hear him, and tucks the paper into his shirt pocket, so he can share it at breakfast the next day. He can’t wait to see Blondie’s reaction.

  



	9. MHawke/Anders - Masquerade for wyvernia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt for [wyvernia](http://wyvernia.tumblr.com) involving a masquerade ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _wyvernia asked:_  
>  We can ask for stuff? I'd like some drabble/ficlet with Handers and a masquerade ball. Can be AU or not, you choose :3

Hawke hated having to rub elbows with the Hightown nobility, but his mother was insistent on him making an appearance at this Satinalia ball, and because he’s a good son, he agrees. He’s finally broken away from the gaggle of suitable young women that his mother’s friends have gathered for him, and he’s grumbling and trying to find a drink when a hand tugs at his sleeve.

He turns, then looks down. Under a garishly-pink nug mask, Varric is grinning and holding a wineglass out to him. Hawke almost hugs him.

“You’re like my guardian spirit of drunkenness, I _love_ you.” Hawke gulps down the wine in a very ungentleman-like fashion, lifting his black feathered raven-mask up so he doesn’t spill a drop.

“You’re welcome. I wanted to go over and rescue you, but I figured your mother would kill me.”

“Good call. Should I even ask why you’re here?”

Varric looks offended, and puts a hand on his fabulous chest. “Hawke, I’m a well-regarded author and a prominent member of the Merchant’s Guild, why wouldn’t I be here?”

“Fair enough.” Hawke readjusts his mask and watches people mingle in the ballroom, hoping his mother hasn’t found where he’s hiding.

“You clean up pretty well, you know that?”

“I do, don’t I?” Hawke says, grinning. He’s wearing a fine black suit with a red silk shirt, hidden under a vest and coat. He lost the ascot argument with his mother, but won his boots as a concession, provided that he shined them properly. He drew a stripe of red across the beak of the raven mask as an act of rebellion. “Pity you’re the only one who gets to see it.”

“Sebastian’s over in the other room, arguing politics and religion. I’m surprised his belt buckle isn’t wearing it’s own mask.”

Hawke sighs. “Not worth it, even for vanity’s sake.”

Varric makes an interested noise. “Well, maybe _someone else_ will be impressed.”

“Who?” Hawke turns, but Varric is walking away. “Dwarf…” He’s about to follow, but then he notices someone approaching, and he has to blink a few times because he _knows_ that cheeky grin and those swaying hips. Anders isn’t wearing his usual, ragged coat, but he’s still wearing feathers; his mask is gold and ringed with peacock plumage, and his long, black jacket has the same blue and green feathers around the collar to match the green of his suit. The silk jacket swings as he walks, ruffles cascading down the front of the coat to his hips where the fabric billows behind him. He looks elegant and beautiful, and Hawke wants to pin him to the wall and do terrible things to him. More-so than usual.

“Nice mask,” Anders says, his blush barely showing from under his own as Hawke takes his hand and pulls him close, brushing his lips over Anders’ fingers.

“Not that I’m not thrilled and thankful, but how did you get here?”

“Varric,” Anders replies, and Hawke makes a mental note to give the dwarf a cask of something in thanks.

“You look amazing.” Hawke leans closer, and runs a hand down Anders’ chest. “Do you get to keep this?”

“He didn’t say.” Anders beams at him, and Hawke vows to buy him new clothes the next day; something nice that he can wear and feel like a real person again.

“I’ll pay him if I have to, because it’s going to get messy when I get you home.”

The mage laughs, and shakes his head. “We can’t go yet.”

The other man pouts. “Why not?”

“Because I haven’t been asked for a dance yet.” Anders’ tone is light, as if he’s preparing for the rogue to make an excuse and deny him.

Hawke’s face lights up in a genuine grin and he takes a step back. “Dance with me?” he asked, holding his hand out and bowing slightly.

“I would be delighted, serah.” Anders smiles, that glorious, radiant one that Hawke covets, and takes the rogue’s offered hand. He leads Anders to the center of the ballroom, deftly weaving them through the crowd, not giving the slightest care to anything else in the world.


	10. Anders/MHawke - for ilyahna1980

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This amazing prompt is from [ilyahna1980](http://ilyahna1980.tumblr.com) and includes Rent-A-Cop!Cullen.
> 
> This chapter is rated M.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ilyahna1980 asked:_  
>  I would like a modern AU ficlet in which Handers try to take pictures on the mall photo booth, and things get steamy, and Cullen the mall security guard catches them.

“Ooh,” Hawke says, using the hand not attached to Anders’ hip to gesture at a photo booth as they pass. “You want a souvenir of our thrilling shopping experience?”

“I’d hardly call it thrilling," Anders replies. “We only came here for pants.” He looks at the cheesy advertising plastered over the sides with distaste. “Does anyone even use these anymore?”

“No, but we still have time before the movie starts, and we should try it out. And if it works, we can put the pictures on Facebook. It’ll be ‘ironic’, or something.” Hawke’s argument is far from convincing, but he’s already forming a plan in his mind.

“You’ve been hanging out with Fenris too much.”

“I thought you wanted to take some pictures together?” Hawke wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Anders blushes.

“I wasn’t thinking of _this_ type of picture-taking,” the blond says, rolling his eyes.

“It could be.” Hawke’s grin is devious, and Anders is more than a little red at that look. “Or, you know, we can just duck in and makeout for a bit. No pictures.” He tugs at Anders’ waist, drawing him closer.

The other man looks around, taking note of the uncrowded area, and shakes his head. “One picture,” he says, opening the curtain and ducking in. Hawke follows and closes them in, putting his arm around Anders in the cramped booth.

There’s a screen displaying photo options and various obnoxious things that can be added for effects, and Anders has to prevent Hawke from pressing every button he can like a child. Hawke does manage to queue them up for 20 photos, though, before the other man can stop him.

“Really?” Anders asks, incredulously. The screen beeps at them in warning, and a countdown of 10 seconds appears.

Hawke winks and pulls him closer, until Anders is almost in his lap. “Want to see how inappropriate we can get in 20 pictures?”

“You’re terrible.” Anders giggles as Hawke kisses his cheek, and the flash goes off.

Anders is on Hawke’s lap after the third picture, and he forgets the camera completely after the sixth one when Hawke’s hands slide down the back of Anders’ jeans to cup his ass. Kisses become more urgent and Hawke pulls Anders closer, grinding them together through their jeans.

“Garrett, we shouldn’t…” His words stop in a moan as Hawke’s mouth traces across a stubbled jaw to his neck.

“Mmm, still have a few more pictures,” Hawke replies. One hand leaves Anders’ jeans as another flash goes off, then fingers slide up the back of his shirt, nails trailing up his spine as Hawke massages his ass, dangerously close to his cleft.

“Fuck,” Anders pants, threading his fingers through Hawke’s hair, writhing against those insistent hands. “You’re not a nice man.”

“It’s why you love me,” Hawke retorts, voice hot and low against Anders’ ear. “Nice men won’t fuck you the way you need it.”

“Oh, Maker.” Anders whines and whimpers as Hawke strokes his cock through his jeans, pinning him between both of his strong hands and teasing him to madness. The chime sounds to tell them the photos are done, but neither of them pay attention.

They’re forced to pay attention when someone knocks against the side of the booth. “Hey,” a gruff voice says, “You can’t do that in here!”

Anders almost falls off Hawke’s lap in his shock and makes a noise that sounds like a startled cat. The curtain swings open and they see a blond, curly-haired security cop, who appears to have been expecting teenagers necking each other and not two adult men, by the state of his flustered expression.

“Um,” the guard says.

“We were just leaving!” Hawke says as Anders scrambles off his lap and out of the booth, adjusting his clothing. “Thanks for your patience. Keep up the good work.” Hawke winks at the guard and puts his arm around Anders, leading him away before the man can do anything other than stare at them with his mouth gaping.

“Maker, that was terrible,” Anders groans, equal parts frustrated and embarrassed.

“Worth it,” Hawke says, as he holds up a sheet of photos. Anders’ face can’t be seen but Hawke is grinning over his boyfriend’s shoulder, one hand inside his jeans and on his ass, the other giving a thumbs-up.

“Are you kidding?!” Anders grabs for it, and Hawke laughs and flinches away, protecting it from destruction.


	11. MHawke/Anders - Birthday present for ilyahna1980

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy birthday present for the awesome [ilyahna1980](http://ilyahna1980.tumblr.com).

Hawke loved sleep. He could nod off anywhere and anytime and blink awake like nothing happened. He’d even fallen asleep standing before, propped against a wall for a quick nap; Fenris pushed him once and he woke in the middle of his fall, catching himself before he face-planted. Anders was envious, especially since he never seemed to have enough rest these days, but he was respectful of Hawke’s love for staying in bed all day, provided they had nothing to do.

Today, though, they had something to do, and he poked Hawke in the shoulder from under the mound of blankets. “Garrett, wake up.” The dog was curled in Anders’ vacant spot, and scooted off once he caught the mage scowling at him.

“Mrgh,” Hawke grumbled, immobile.

“Varric needs us in an hour, remember?”

“Forgot, slipped my mind completely,” came the muffled response, Hawke’s face pressed into the pillow. “Varric’ll wait.”

Anders sighed and knelt on the bed. “Come on, you sleep all the time. Get up.” He pushed against Hawke’s back, not hard enough to actually move him, but enough to be annoying.  
Another inarticulate grunt came out of Hawke, and he tucked himself further in the blanket. “It’s cold.”

“You’re _Fereldan_ and you’re complaining of the cold? Now you’re just making excuses.”

“Yes,” Hawke agreed.

At least he wasn’t pretending otherwise. It was time to get serious. “Don’t make me tickle you.”

Hawke opened an eye and peaked over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I dare a lot of things.” Anders smirked and slipped a hand under the blanket, trying to prod at Hawke’s bare skin, but the other man flinched away with a startled shout and burrowed deeper under the covers.

“Unjust!” he cried futilely as Anders pursued him relentlessly, lifting the blanket and slipping under to wrap himself around Hawke and press his fingers into his sides, making the man squirm and laugh.

“Are you defeated so easily, Champion?” Anders chided, curled around his warmth and laughing as Hawke flailed and tried to slap his hands away.

“You will pay dearly for this!” Hawke insisted. He wriggled free and turned over, rolling himself on top of Anders with their legs tangled together, finally catching both of the mage’s hands and pinning them to his sides. “Got you,” he said, grinning, hair mussed and eyes heavy with sleep.

“Always,” Anders replied, smiling back at him. “Even when you refuse to wake up.”

“Well, I’m awake now,” Hawke confirmed, leaning down to capture that smile. As the kiss deepened he released Anders’ hands to slide his own under the mage’s back, pressing him closer, Anders’ arms wrapping around his neck. Hawke was warm and solid, surrounding him completely, all of Anders’ senses full of him until there was nothing else that existed in the world.

“I think,” Hawke said, as his lips trailed down Anders’ chin and jaw, “that I was right, with my earlier statement, that Varric can wait.” He ground his hips against Anders’, confirming that they were both very interested in staying in bed.

“Just this once,” Anders scolded, pulse racing, knowing full well that this wasn’t the first or the last time they’d be late leaving the house.

“Anything you say, love,” Hawke’s voice was against Anders’ ear, teasing his earlobe with his tongue, and all thoughts of Varric and responsibilities vanished from the mage’s mind.


	12. Anders/Fenris/MHawke - Inspired by Warriormaggie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written per a conversation with [warriormaggie](http://warriormaggie.tumblr.com) regarding [this amazing image](http://un-shit-yourself.tumblr.com/post/134540681353/solomon-volfovich-anders-from-street-racing-au) and our ridiculous scenario involving Anders, Fenris, and Hawke, with Nate as the instigator and Sigrun as his disgruntled wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _un-shit-yourself_   
>  _can you imagine fenris and hawke separately driving in the area and seeing that and both of them just blanking out mentally and accidentally crashing into each other_
> 
>  
> 
> _warriormaggie_  
>  _And then suddenly Anders finds himself with two men in his driveway_  
>  _And Nathaniel standing at the door to the house like “can I help you two?”_

Nate sends out the text as soon as Anders comes out of the garage with the bucket and the hose, clad only in his obnoxious pink swim trunks. He’s at the front window where his desk is, watching and smirking to himself.

_-anders is about to wash the car in nothing but tiny shorts fyi_

He hits “Send” and his words travel through the air to two different locations. The responses come back quickly.

_-FUKC OMW :D_

_-so what_

He doesn’t bother responding to the second one, because he already knows both men are on their way over. It’s been like pulling teeth trying to get any of them to admit feelings for each other, and Nate was struggling for the idea for his next novel, so he’s finally taken matters into his own hands. Anders needs to have something to look forward to other than work and coming home to his tiny apartment in the basement. Hawke needs to stop getting so distracted with his crushes every time they have Wicked Grace night, and Nate is tired of hearing all of his terrible flirting attempts. Fenris just needs to get laid, for Maker’s sake, and it doesn’t take a genius to see the way he looks at both Hawke and Anders.

Part of Anders’ rent is doing chores around the house, and one of those is to wash Nate’s precious car. It’s now summer, so Anders is comfortable dancing around to music in just his shorts as he makes a mess of himself outside. Nate admits the sight isn’t bad, and when Sigrun comes up behind him and snorts, he just smirks at her.

“Enjoying the view?” she says, waggling her eyebrows.

“It’ll get better in a few minutes,” Nate replies, putting his arm around her.

“What does that mean?” she asks suspiciously.

Almost as if her words are a summoning spell, Nate looks out the window and down the curved end of the street, where he sees Hawke’s ridiculous SUV turning onto their road. He’s about to congratulate Hawke mentally on being the fastest, when a series of events turn the entire situation into chaos.

The first is Anders, because of course it is; it’s fitting that Anders is the catalyst for this madness. Apparently already too hot under the sun, he leans against the hood of Nate’s car, one hand pulling his loose blond hair out of his face, and the other holding the hose in front of him. He sprays himself using what must be the “rain” setting, because the water is gentle and pours over him as if caressing him, his naked skin glistening in the sun, eyes closed with a smile on his face. The very picture of what a blond bombshell washing a car should look like.

The second event comes from Fenris, who was driving from the opposite end of the city, and appears from the road behind the house. Nate’s house is on the corner, and Fenris is about to turn left. The elf looks right, and sees nothing. He looks left, and by the time he sees the blond, he’s already pulling out into the road to park in front of Nate’s house, but he seems to have misjudged and he’s farther from the curb that he should be.

The third event is Hawke, in all of his excitable glory, blazing down the street and heading towards’s Nate’s house. He’s almost alongside Fenris’ car when he takes note of Anders posing like a swimsuit model, and Hawke is the one to veer wildly off course and swerve into Fenris’ vehicle. It’s not a hard hit, but it’s enough for Nate to hear the “crunch” of fenders colliding from inside the house, and enough for Sigrun to start swearing colorfully.

“Shit,” Nate says, running outside. Anders drops the hose in shock. Fenris is yelling, scrambling out of the passenger side of his car. Hawke exits the vehicle and looks between their cars and Anders like he doesn’t know which one is the more pressing issue to focus on.

“What the fuck?” Fenris yells, pointing at his car.

“What the fuck?” Anders asks, trying to make sense of the destructively sudden appearance of both men in the driveway.

“What the fuck?” Sigrun shouts, having followed Nate to the porch.

“Hi,” Hawke says, grinning at Anders, and then turning the same grin to Fenris. “Sorry.”

“’ _Sorry?!_ ’” Fenris asks, incredulous. “You’re an idiot!”

“Um,” Anders says, looking between them both, and then at Nate, who’s trying hard not to laugh.

“So, hi,” Nate says in greeting to both men, then looks at Sigrun, who’s giving him That Look. “I didn’t do it." 

He tries to say it with a straight face, but it’s a mix of amused and bewildered and guilty, and Sigrun reaches up to grab him by the ear and pull him down to her level.

"You giant ass! What is  _wrong_  with you? We have an accident scene in front of our house!” Sigrun’s voice is intimidating even when she’s not enraged, and Nate notices that Anders, Hawke, and Fenris have all distanced themselves and have taken refuge behind Nate’s car while he gets scolded.

“So, nice shorts,” Hawke says, winking.

“This is hardly the time,” Fenris growls.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Anders complains, wishing he had some means to defend himself against the angry dwarf woman if her rage gets focused on him.

“Nate asked me to come over,” Hawke replies. He’s blatantly staring at Anders’ bare chest and the nipple rings that adorn it. “I’m glad I did.”

“He did?” Fenris says, eyes narrowing. “He said the same to me.”

Both men look at each other with raised eyebrows. Anders debates going for the hose. “He asked you both to come over?”

“Er,” Hawke’s eyes dart between the elf and the blond, as if trying to figure out whether he’s been set up.

“More or less,” Fenris says, already having come to the conclusion that Nate must be punished for his actions, and he has faith in Sigrun’s ability to do so.

Anders looks at them curiously, then blushes when he sees their eyes roaming over his body. “I see. Maybe I should, er. Change.”

“No!” both men say, but Fenris is the one that grabs blindly for Anders’ waist as he turns to leave, and accidentally gets a finger in the waistband of the spandex. There’s a moment where he’s nearly pulling Anders’ shorts off, the crack of his ass tantalizingly visible, and then Anders yelps in surprise. Fenris withdraws his hand like he’s been burned, and there’s an audible snap of the fabric as it smacks Anders’ ass.

Sigrun pauses in her yelling to cackle wildly, which is Nate’s opportunity to escape into the house, but she pursues quickly.

Hawke looks like he’s about to melt from more than just the heat. “Will you wash my car?” he pleads.

Fenris reaches down, grabs the hose, and sprays Hawke with it in the face. While the other man sputters, he says, “ _My_  car is the one that was wronged, thank you. Anders should wash mine.”

Anders, finally getting on board with the entire situation, including all of the nuances that have remained unsaid and all of Nate’s involvement in setting all three of them up, takes a moment to eye both men equally. He cocks his hip, smirking, leaning against the hood of Nate’s car. “You know, I could probably wash both of your cars at the same time.”

The hose stops pummeling Hawke as Fenris gapes at Anders. The other man, also, is a bit open-mouthed, despite wiping water from his beard. While the elf turns increasingly red and flustered, Hawke gently takes the hose from his grip, holds it over Fenris’ head, and turns it on. This isn’t a good plan, and Anders laughs wildly as Fenris chases Hawke around the car.

Ten minutes later, after Sigrun has stopped yelling, Nate comes outside to see Hawke and Fenris’ cars in his driveway, and his own car missing. He curses with enough creativity that Sigrun gives him an affectionate pat on the ass instead of telling him he deserves it.

—

When resuming his car washing duties the next day, Anders wears a shirt. Not for modesty’s sake, but because he has enough bite marks and scratches along his chest and back that he looks like he’s been attacked by rabid animals. Fenris and Hawke sit in chairs on the porch, Fenris using Hawke’s legs as a footrest, as Nate types furiously from inside the house. Occasionally he calls for details through the open window, and Hawke provides them gladly.

“What will your neighbors think, honestly,” Fenris grumbles.

“They probably love it. I know I would.” Hawke grins and pats Fenris’ ankle.


	13. Anders/MHawke - for sweettart-cosplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written as a prompt for [sweettart-cosplay](http://sweettart-cosplay.tumblr.com) for Celebrating Handers week on Tumblr.

Hawke is convinced that Anders is part cat. He knows the mage never gets enough sleep, but he seems to make up for it by having the ability to doze off whenever he wants to. Most of the time, Anders rests against Hawke, curling against his side as they sit together or putting his head on Hawke’s shoulder, eyelids closing almost immediately as sleep takes him. The others always make comments about Hawke’s ability to become instant furniture, but he just puts a finger to his lips and waves at them to speak quietly, putting his arm around the mage and drawing him closer.

Hawke gets used to the feel of Anders’ soft breathing against his chest, the tickle of feathers against his chin, the warmth of the body against his side. Anders keeps long hours at the clinic, often coming home and leaving before Hawke wakes up, so these moments become what he cherishes. He’s grateful that Anders trusts him like this, to let Hawke protect him while he rests, grateful too for Justice’s confidence; he knows the spirit usually remains vigilant while Anders sleeps, but when the mage curls up against Hawke and dozes off, there’s only a dim blue glow behind Anders’ closed eyelids.

He never startles Anders awake if he can help it, too aware of the panic that sometimes takes his lover as he’s ripped into wakefulness. It only takes Hawke brushing his lips across Anders’ forehead, or a quiet, “Wake up, love,” for Anders to blink back Justice’s glow, the embroidered edge of Hawke’s tunic leaving a pattern on his cheek, blushing if he realizes he drooled on Hawke’s shoulder again. “Sorry,” the mage always says, to which Hawke replies, “Don’t be, I like being your furniture.”


	14. Anders/MHawke - Tinyhawke for losebetter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written as a prompt with Circinus Hawke for [losebetter](http://losebetter.tumblr.com) for Celebrating Handers week on Tumblr. Inspired by his art for [Pirate Tinyhawke.](http://losebetter.tumblr.com/post/133935549991/i-really-dont-think-i-talk-enough-about) Non-explicit sex mention.

Hawke knows it isn’t really the sea air on Isabela’s ship that’s lifted his spirits lately, but it’s still the excuse he uses when Anders asks, because there’s too many words otherwise for what he wants to say. _I’m relieved to not feel like I’m choking to death in that city anymore. I’m amazed we’re alive and you’re here with me and you love me. I’m glad we got out and everyone’s safe but I’m afraid it’s going to catch up to us someday so I’m trying to accumulate as much happiness as possible until then._

Some of it slips out, involuntarily, when he and Anders are pressed together as close as two people can possibly get, hands and fingers and mouths and hips working steadily until they’re panting against each other’s lips, and Hawke says, “I need you” and Anders replies, “You have me,” and Hawke grabs his shoulders and holds on because he can’t bear to ever let go, and Anders murmurs endearments into Hawke’s ear until they crest together over that wave of passion, like the ship rocking across the ocean.

They lay tangled together on blankets (because sex in a hammock is just impossible, they’ve tried) and Anders’ breath against his shoulder reminds him of the ocean breeze, his warmth like the Rivaini sun burning down and tanning them (or in Anders’ case, bestowing more freckles), Anders’ arms around him like the ship cradling them over the waves, and Hawke remembers Isabela’s stories about how sailors never worry about drowning, only about being shipwrecked, because they may as well be dead otherwise once that freedom and safety are gone.

Anders kisses his forehead, and Hawke isn’t afraid to drown.


	15. Fenris/MHawke - For lord-of-the-gay-trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Lord-of-the-gay-trash](http://lord-of-the-gay-trash.tumblr.com) won 3rd place in my Giveaway contest, and won a 500 word ficlet of his choice, so here's a modern AU Fenhawke fluffy thing for him that turned into almost 800 words, oops :D.

Fenris had seen the handsome, bearded man at the dog park before. He’d just moved into the area a month before, and had been pleased to have the park so close to his apartment. They’d never been introduced, but Fenris had heard someone else call the man “Hawke.” The white-haired man would see him around noon when he took Desna to the park, and he found himself staring at him instead of his phone more often than not. 

He was tall and muscular, always grinning, and always followed by at least three dogs. One was a large mabari that Hawke called “Princess,” and the others appeared to belong to the neighbors that Hawke would walk as a service. They formed a veritable pack, with Princess in front, and Hawke played with them as if he was an overeager puppy.

Today, Hawke had arrived around his usual time, and had spent the last ten minutes enthusiastically running with the dogs around the park. At one point, he’d even gotten knocked down by one of the larger animals, and laughed as he ended up on the bottom of a literal dog pile and rolled around in the grass as the dogs licked his face. Fenris thought it was ridiculous, and tried to deny that it was adorable.

Desna watched the proceedings from Fenris’ lap as he sat on a nearby bench, ears cocked quizzically. She always stayed near Fenris instead of socializing with the other dogs. Princess broke away from the dogpile and followed a scent until she approached the bench, wagging her tail at the small black and white terrier, who barked shrilly and growled. Princess let out a friendly _woof_ and crouched, wanting to play and trying to be as persuasive as possible.

“Shoo,” Fenris said on his dog’s behalf.

Hawke approached, looking between Princess and Desna. “Your dog doesn’t like to play, does she?” he asked, running a hand through his disheveled hair, grass blades randomly scattered through it. He smiled at Fenris, causing an uncomfortable knot to form in his stomach.

“Not particularly,” he replied simply. He was waiting for the inevitable once-over that happened with strangers, the furrowed brow and distrust that always came after viewing the tattoos across his skin. Hawke’s eyes darted quickly across them, but his expression didn’t change. If anything, his smile widened. “You have grass in your beard.”

“Whoops.” The man brushed it out quickly, wiped his palm on his jeans, then extended it. “I’m Hawke, by the way. That’s Princess. The others aren’t mine.”

“Fenris,” the white-haired man answered, shaking Hawke’s hand. “This is Desna.”

Hawke crouched down and waved at her with a grin, and she whined. “Can I pet her?” he asked. He looked at Fenris with near puppy-eyes, and he cleared his throat before answering.

“You can try,” Fenris replied. “She’s skittish.” He bent to set Desna on the ground, and Hawke ordered Princess to sit when the mabari inched forward. Desna carefully approached Hawke, sniffing his hand, then bumped his palm with her nose. He took that as acceptance and scratched her behind the ears.

“What a good girl,” he said in a sing-song voice that was not at all endearing. Desna growled at Princess when she whined, jealous at Hawke’s attention to another dog, and before Fenris could comment on the situation, the other animals in Hawke’s pack came bounding up to see what the holdup in play was. Desna leaped into Fenris’ lap, claws scrabbling at his shirt, and the other dogs barked in a circle around Hawke.

“Sorry, they’re a handful,” Hawke said, sheepishly. “Don’t like to be ignored.”

“It’s fine,” Fenris replied, petting Desna. “I’m just surprised she took to you so quickly. She’s a rescue, and usually doesn’t like people.”

“Must be a sign that I’m a good guy, then,” Hawke said, smiling flirtatiously.

Fenris’ mind helpfully went blank at any sort of proper response, so he simply said, “Perhaps.” Hawke looked chagrined at the lack of returned enthusiasm though, and he quickly added, “Maybe she’d like you more without your entourage. It would certainly be quieter.”

Hawke’s smile returned. “Well, maybe I’ll come back this evening, and it’ll be just me and Princess. Maybe around 6?”

“Sure,” Fenris said, his mind returning just in time to question his actions. _Did you just ask the dogpark-man on a date? To the _dogpark?__

“See you tonight, then,” the brunet said, apparently not troubled by the unoriginality, and he jogged off with his pack at his heels.

Fenris sighed to himself and pat Desna’s head, smiling down at her for her cooperation. “Good girl.”


	16. Anders/MHawke - for littlexabyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song prompt written for [littlexabyss](http://littlexabyss.tumblr.com) based on the song ["Better Stranger" by Royal Blood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYsNq277O1Y). Contains references to death and tranquility.

It’s the end of another day, the starless night sky showing through cracks the only indication of time passing in Darktown.

Hawke walks with me, under the guise of protection, but I know there’s more to his generosity; something that makes his hand brush against mine as we walk through the narrow passages, something that resonates with the small, answering hope in my heart. His eyes hold mine just a beat too long as he says, “Goodnight,” and it takes effort for me to ignore the fluttering in my chest and only smile softly as I turn away, closing the door to the clinic without looking back.

It’s a pattern that’s become familiar, this back and forth between us; both of us moving in circles, caught in a tide of our own. I don’t know how long he’ll keep trying. I don’t know if I want him to _stop_ trying, if I can bear the thought of him turning away, but it hurts too much to keep him close.

Justice keeps me focused when my thoughts drift.

He nudges me toward the desk, to the scraps of paper that contain my ( _our_ ) arguments against the Circles, and I sit obediently, taking up the quill despite my weariness so that I can quell the spirit’s annoyance at having been dragged away on another errand. But still I hesitate, thinking of Hawke’s brown eyes and how they crinkle at the edges when he grins; Justice responds with a pulse of disappointment, but the guilt that rises at his scolding is all my own.

I know what happens when I lose my focus.

Karl’s death is on my hands, though the templars and the Chantry may have ordered the brand, because I delayed. I stayed in Amaranthine when I should have fled to Kirkwall at the first chance I had, wasted time setting up the clinic when I could have been doing something, _anything_ to save him.

Time heals the wounds that magic cannot, but it doesn’t stop the ache.

Justice again responds to my thoughts, this time with sympathy and regret, but I shake my head. “It won’t happen again,” I whisper, and he basks in my determination.

I refuse to add Hawke’s blood to Karl’s.

So I keep him safely outside. Outside the Mage Underground, outside the clinic, outside of these barriers I’ve carefully built to keep him safe from me, to keep me safe from him. I can’t risk him getting close, no matter how much I long to reach out, to hear his voice whispered in my ear, to feel his arms holding me, to taste his breath against my lips…

The scrap of paper under my palm ignites, and Justice hums with disapproval as I brush the ash from the writing surface. Focus.

 _They will never take another mage as they took him._ I - _We_ \- swore the oath, in the Chantry itself; my path is set, I can only move forward, alone.

Maker help me, but I have to keep strong.


	17. Anders/MHawke - for therealmnemo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song prompt based on ["Misguided Ghosts"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oGWeHPK3NC4) by Paramore for [therealmnemo](http://therealmnemo.tumblr.com).

The clinic is a mess by the time Hawke arrives; cots tossed aside haphazardly, crates overturned, linens strewn on the floor. Panic washes over him for a moment, fearing Templars had found the refuge and somehow sought revenge for Alrik so quickly, but the voice Hawke hears from the back is decidedly Anders’. Hawke latches the door and moves forward, stepping around the chaos, until he can see beyond the thin divider.

Anders is on his knees pulling items out of a hidden compartment in the wall, clothing and herbs and papers spread chaotically around him as he shoves various things into a knapsack. Hawke hears him rapidly muttering to himself, catching a few curses in both Ander and Trade. Traces of blue flicker across his skin, his blond hair disheveled and falling into his eyes, but he pays it no mind. 

Hawke frowns as he takes in the scene, but tries to sound normal when he asks, “Going somewhere?”

There’s a spell on Anders’ fingers as he startles and looks up, but it fades almost immediately. “What are you doing here?” he asks, eyes darting to the door. He looks cornered, trapped, and his fingers tighten around the bag.

Hawke ignores the ache in his chest and moves so he’s not blocking Anders’ path, showing his empty hands placatingly. “I came to check on you. I’m glad I did, were you just going to run off without saying anything?”

“I… What do you want me to say?” Anders replies sharply, looking away. “That I’m sorry for almost losing control and killing an innocent girl, that I’m sorry for pretending I wasn’t a monster, for getting you involved in all of this? Because yes, I’m sorry, alright? There’s nothing more to say other than that.”

Anders speaks so quickly that it takes Hawke a moment to translate it. “You’re not a monster, and I’ve already told you enough that I’m eager to be involved. That hasn’t changed.”

“How can you say that _now_?!” the mage demands. He stands up, aimlessly pacing and running his hands through his hair. “I can’t do this anymore, I’m a danger to you, a liability to everyone in the Gallows, she’s going to tell them about the _abomination_ that almost killed her and they’ll never trust the Mage Underground again because of me!”

Well, this won’t do at all. “Anders, look at me.”

“Just _go_ , Hawke, leave me, I don’t deserve you and you can’t help me. It was all a rumor, a delusion, and I followed it like a fool and I can’t control myself or Justice and I don’t…”

He’s interrupted with Hawke’s sudden movement as the rogue grips his shoulders and pushes him against the wall. Anders’ skin is ablaze in blue, eyes a mix of fear and anger, and Hawke says, “You’re not a monster or my enemy, and I’m not _your_ enemy, either. Listen to me, both of you.”

Justice recedes and leaves Anders sagging bonelessly against the wall, and Hawke is surprised at how quickly the spirit listens to him, just as Justice had before in the cavern. “You lost control, yeah, and that mage girl almost died, but she _didn’t_ die, Anders. You both held back. She’s fine, she’s out of the Circle and off somewhere safe.” 

Anders shakes his head, but Hawke continues. “Alrik will never hurt another mage again. I’ve got the papers for the proof of his ‘Tranquil Solution’, I can show you. He had them on him. He sent the garbage to Meredith and Elthina and they both told him to shove it. You were _right_.”

The blond finally looks up at Hawke. “I was right,” he repeats, uncertain.

“Yeah.” Hawke feels Anders shiver and he lets go, still staying close. “You may have scared the shit out of that girl, but she’s safe now. That’s what matters, right? Her and the other mages being safe?” He’s aiming for reassurance, instead of the selfish desperation he feels at the thought of Anders leaving Kirkwall. “They need you here to help them, no one else is going to do it. And I’m here to help you,” he can’t help but add.

Instead of relieved, Anders looks even more pained. “I was right, and I was just going to _leave_ them,” he manages, breath shaky. “I was going to run again, like I’ve always done, I left so many in Kinloch and they all died because I did nothing…”

“Stop that,” Hawke orders. “Maker, you owe yourself more credit. You didn’t summon demons into the circle and you were just one mage, Anders, how could you have freed all of them? You can’t carry their weight, too. You’re too skinny anyway.”

The improperly placed joke is so very Hawke that Anders can’t help the laugh that escapes, loud and sudden, but in the next breath it’s a sob. “You don’t hate me?” he asks, so hesitant.

“I don’t even know if I could,” Hawke replies honestly.

Hawke’s arms automatically wrap around the mage as he falls against him, face pressed to Hawke’s tunic and hands gripping the fabric tightly, as if Hawke was the one who had been about to flee. This is the closest he’s ever been to Anders, and he can’t help the spark of giddiness that courses through him, but Hawke keeps his focus only on holding him tight, rubbing soothing patterns across Anders’ back as the man trembles in his arms. 

They can right the clinic and pick up the pieces later.


	18. OC KIss Prompts (DA, FO4, ME)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OC Kiss Prompts from the September OC Kiss Week on Tumblr.

#1 - [mikkeneko's](http://mikkeneko.tumblr.com) Mardra Amell and Krasny Hawke  


Rating - G / Warnings - none

(Disclaimer - I don’t know much about the random quests in DAI but I saw this was a war table mission, and figured since she was from Perendale, I could hand-wave this into working. Also, in this version Hawke is more of an Inquisition Agent after the whole Grey Wardens thing, and my Inquisitor Jonathan Trevelyan is in charge. *hand waves it all away until my wrists fall off*)

—

Krasny had never known his mother’s family, except from the stories she’d tell of her glory days. He knew that he had cousins, and that magic had run strong in that side of the family and split them all into different circles, but he had no idea where they had ended up.

It was only through chance that he and Anders had gone on an errand for the Inquisition to recruit to the mages taking refuge in the Perendale circle, and discovered that their spokesperson was his relative. Mardra Amell reminded him of Bethany, except much more businesslike and stern, though she finally started opening up after the negotiations had been completed.

“Do you trust the Inquisition?” she asked, as they sat in the remnants of what used to be a library.

“I trust the guy in charge, and he keeps the rest of them in line.” Krasny shrugged. “He’s from the Ostwick circle, he won’t let the mages down.”

“It’s not just us I’m worried about,” she replied. “There’s others on the line, innocent people caught up in this war.” Her gaze went to the other side of the room where Anders was trying to teach the finer points of healing magic to curious apprentices. “I want to know that my people will be safe from those who want vengeance for _their_  homes being uprooted, by apostates or templars alike. We’ve always been targets, but I suppose you know that all too well, even without being a mage.”

“I don’t think anyone can guarantee absolute safety,” he said. “But I do know that you’re far better off with the others then holed up in this tower. The Inquisition is at least trying to make things better, and that counts for something these days.”

Mardra made a thoughtful noise, but didn’t speak. After a few minutes, she put her hand on Krasny’s arm. “I’m glad I was able to meet you, Champion. You’re… different than I imagined.”

“Not near noble enough to be an Amell, surely,” he joked.

She gave him a wry look. “Perhaps not in manners, but in actions. _That_  does count for something.” She leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek. “Good luck, cousin,” she said, then rose to see to her charges.

 

* * *

 

#2 - [renegadechristies's](http://renegadechristie.tumblr.com) Eva Coombs, Cyruse Deschain, and Hancock (FO4)  


Rating - T / Warnings - implied threesome

Cyruse was draped on one of Hancock’s old sofas, barefoot and reading comic books, when Eva stomped upstairs. Her annoyed scoff at his relaxed appearance made him smirk, but he finished the page before glancing over at her. “Did you have fun?” he asked coyly.

“What do you think?” she grumbled. “Stomping around in mud, chasing after bandits, and all that effort only to find they had _nothing_  good on them? Who needs a dozen fucking clipboards?!”

She sat down on his legs with a huff, and he scowled. “Excuse you.”

“Excuse _you_. Did you seriously read comics all day while I was out saving the Commonwealth?”

“No, only for the last hour or so, after Hancock’s grumpy tirade and him barricading himself in the office.”

Eva rolled her eyes. “Ass. What is it now?”

“What is it ever?” Cyruse asked rhetorically. He tossed the comic book on the stained coffee table, littered with ashtrays and clutter. “The Institute, the stiffs in Diamond City, someone taking the last of his grape mentats.”

“That wasn’t me, I hate grape flavoring. It’s not _real_  grape,” Eva said with a huff.

“I’m fairly sure it was _him_ , and he forgot.” Cyruse jostled his legs until the woman stood up. “I was going to make him more as a peace offering, but now that you’re back, I have a better idea.”

“Oh, do you?” She winked at him, and he shrugged, but the knowing smile was enough for her to grab his arm and pull him off the couch. “Come on, then. Let’s make him ungrumpy.”

Hancock didn’t even raise his head from his desk as they entered, Eva easily picking the lock and closing it behind them. “Whatever it is, I don’t care,” the man grumbled.

“Aww, you sure? I think we could make you care.” The redhead sat on the desk, leaning over as Hancock sat up to take his hat off and put it on her own head. Cyruse leaned over him from behind, arms around his shoulders, and Hancock’s irritated expression immediately turned more pleasant. Eva kissed one wrinkled cheek as the blond kissed the other, and Hancock chuckled.

“Is it my birthday or somethin’?,” he asked.

“Like you could remember when it is,” Eva retorted fondly, and Cyruse laughed.

“You got a point,” Hancock agreed, reaching for both of them. “Let’s say it’s today.”

 

* * *

 

#3 - [losebetter's](http://losebetter.tumblr.com) Saintly Shepard and Seph Shepard (ME)

Rating - G / Warnings - Silly Handshakes

(pretending that both she and saintly survived akuze together and then he got his Spectre promotion. i dunno what else seph would be doing besides saving the galaxy, so we’ll pretend that she’s running similar missions or whatever for the alliance)

—

One thing you could say about Persephone, Garrus reasoned, was that she was loyal. She never forgot her friends, no matter the years between interactions; whether that was a human thing or not, the turian found it endearing. When he’d told her that Kaidan on bedrest at Huerta Memorial from his injuries in a mission, she was in-route before he’d ever gotten confirmation that his message had been read. She met him in the lobby, clad in her off-duty clothing, and nuzzled against his face in greeting.

“How is he?” she asked.

“Stoic. Recovering. Trying to convince the commander that he’s fine, all the usual Kaidan things.” he replied.

“He always was stubborn,” she said, shaking her head.

Kaidan was sitting up when they entered, and he offered Persephone a smile, but Saintly’s reaction was far more enthusiastic.He jumped up from the plastic chair he’d been sitting on, face blooming with the first smile anyone had seen in days. “Seph!”

“Saintly?!” she gasped, then shoved Garrus playfully. “This asshole is your _Commander_?”

“Hey now, he’s not an asshole,” Kaidan said. “Not all the time, anyway.”

“It’s true, I’ve gotten better since the old days. Sort of,” Saintly said, shrugging.

“Like hell you have, what happened to your _hair_ , oh my God, you’re so fluffy now.”

The movements were too fast for Garrus to take in, but there was an elaborate greeting ritual between the two humans that was complete with hand slapping, chest bumping, and what appeared to be “finger guns,” and ended with a peck on the lips. Kaidan stared at them in shock, and Garrus made a surprised noise at the display.

“Sorry, old squad ritual,” Saintly explained, waving his hand dismissively.

“Now you two do it,” Persephone added, wagging her eyebrows as she looked between Garrus and Kaidan. The dual-voiced protests had her cackling so loudly that an asari nurse knocked on the glass and made a “quiet” gesture.


	19. Anders/MHawke - Foodtruck AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my proclaiming I'd hit a waffle foodtruck "like it was mage ass" and [athos](http://athos-silvani.tumblr.com) wanting an AU where Hawke says this and Anders overhears him.

Anders is finishing prep inside the truck when he hears their first customers outside.

“Oh man, this is going to be amazing! Look at the menu!”

“How are you so excited over a sandwich?”

“How can I _not_ be excited?! Holy shit, they have one with mac and cheese _in the sandwich._ I am going to hit that like it’s mage ass.”

Anders blinks incredulously, wondering if he actually heard that comment correctly, and peeks out the window; a dark-haired, bearded man and a white-haired elf stand in front of the menu, the man barely containing his eagerness at the menu options. 

Isabela is already leaning on the counter, her halter top doing its best to attract customers, waiting for the two to order. She cackles and the man looks up as she crooks her thumb at Anders. “We have some of that, too,” she says with a wink. “Tip enough and you might get a side order of mage ass.”

The illegally handsome man followers her gesture and meets Anders’ flustered gaze, and the blond turns red and throws the bread he’s clutched into a ball at Isabela. “My ass isn’t on the menu!” he yells.

“That’s a shame,” the man says, flashing a charming smile that does nothing to help Anders’ blush, while the elf rolls his eyes and pushes him out of the way.

“I would like the grilled peanut butter sandwich, please. _Without_ any mage ass, thank you,” he growls.

“Any other kind of ass you prefer instead, sweet thing?” Isabela croons. 

“No,” the elf says determinedly. 

Isabela pouts, and Anders heads to the grill, swearing that he won’t show his face for the rest of the day. 

Later, when they tally the bills in the tip jar, Isabela finds a twenty with a business card paper-clipped to it, scrawled handwriting on the back stating, “ _2 the blushy mage, sry 4 being an ass, apology + dinner?_ ” Anders hits his head against the counter in frustration and Isabela deftly slips the card into his back pocket.

He doesn’t throw it away.


	20. Tiny Prompts - Various DA Pairings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three-line prompts (that are sometimes four or five) written as pick-me-ups for various lovelies.

Nanders, for mevima

\---

It wasn’t the first time Nathaniel had awoken in the middle of the night to Anders’ subtle shaking beside him, curled away as much as he could be on Nate’s inadequately-sized bed. 

But this time, instead of pretending to be asleep and letting Anders suffer whatever dreams held him alone, he turned to face the mage, gently reaching out to wrap an arm around Anders’ narrow waist as he pressed against his back. 

Anders flinched and whimpered, but his trembling stopped, and Nate stayed awake long enough to make sure that the blond’s breathing was steady and even before letting himself drift back to sleep.

* * *

Hawkrian, for somanynugs

\---

“Nice moustache,” Hawke said, leaning against the wall. “Does it curl on it’s own, or do you use magic to keep it all sinister-ish?”

“It’s the Tevinter in me; curls naturally in accordance with my evil nature,” Dorian replied, without looking up from his book. “Just as the Fereldan in you surely caused that unnatural mess you call a beard to smother your face.”

“Well, we could test your theory by seeing if getting any Fereldan in you has the same effect,” Hawke said with a grin, infinitely pleased when the mage turned scarlet and broke out into a coughing fit.

* * *

 

Anders and Ser Pounce, for anon

\---

A lot can happen in ten years; cities can fall, Hawke’s beard can develop strands of grey, and kittens can grow into giant, cranky bastards.

“Well this is just unfair. I swear to you, he never lets anyone hold him, not even _me,”_ Mahariel complains, watching Anders nuzzle a surprisingly docile Pounce as the beast purrs loudly, gently kneading paws the size of sovereigns against the mage’s thin tunic. 

“It’s because he _missed me_  and he _loves me_ , yes you do, don’t you?” Anders cooed, smiling into Pounce’s orange fur, not minding that it would stick to his damp cheeks out of relief that his cat hadn’t forgotten him after all this time. “I missed you, too.”

* * *

 

Alpha!Hawke and "What is that?", for steampoweredshine

\---

Hawke stops suddenly, right outside the clinic door, which causes Carver to run into him and bang his forehead on Hawke’s staff. “What is that?” he asks, ignoring his brother’s indignant cursing to sniff the air.

“What is what?” Varric doesn’t smell anything aside from the usual glory of Darktown, so Hawke’s keen interest is lost on him; it must be a human thing, he reasons, since he knows they’ve got all sorts of weird behavior.

When their mysterious Grey Warden turns to confront their presence, Hawke’s eyes light up like he’s just seen a treasure horde worthy of a Dwarven king, nostrils flaring, and giving the blond a friendly yet sharp grin. Varric doesn’t know what that look between the two means, but he does know a good introduction to a story when he sees it.

* * *

 

Fenders and "healers make the worst patients", for noirearrowshoot

\---

“You’re doing those too tight, it’s not a bloody corset. Are you _sure_  that was the elfroot potion?” Anders asked for the third time, restlessly fidgeting on the bed while trying not to aggravate his bandaged chest or the elf doing the bandaging. “It was the red one, on the left side, I know I labeled it correctly… no, don’t tie it like _that_ …”

“ _Vehendis_ ,” Fenris swore and sat back, throwing his hands up. “I am doing my best, mage, it isn’t my fault you exhausted yourself and ran out of your lyrium potions, letting me play nursemaid for your foolish ass.”

Anders sighed, face going from annoyed to pouting. “I thought you liked my foolish ass,” he muttered, and Fenris huffed swatted what he could reach of said body part before returning to the bandage.

* * *

 

Anders, Fenris, and three pairs of socks, for onyxshinigami

\---

Every time Fenris washed his clothes, some mysterious, cat-themed sock found its way into his basket; he’d found two so far, and had thrown them on his dresser, unwilling to throw them out but uncertain what to do about them. 

Today’s finding was purple with orange kittens that had hearts for eyes, and he looked at it in distaste as he hiked up the stairs to his flat, nodding at the attractive blond man who lived below him, also carrying his own laundry.

But then the man stopped, exclaiming, “There it is!” and pointed at the garish sock mixed in with Fenris’ darks. “So you’re the one stealing my socks.” 

If the man hadn’t been genuinely smiling, Fenris might have taken the joke seriously, but instead he froze in the wake of the attention and awkwardly tossed the sock in the man’s basket, fleeing before he did or said anything stupid.

* * *

 

Hawke comforting depressed Anders, for kyluxtrashcompactor

\---

Hawke had a tried and true Method he’d developed to help nurse away the dark circles around Anders’ eyes and the invisible weight from his shoulders, the trials, sorrows, and anxieties that only clinic work and rebellion could bring.

It was nearly always successful, and only required a few modifications based on the situation; take one sad and tired mage, place in the softest chair in the study (after wrapping said mage in his favorite blanket), provide with hot tea, then run fingers through the mage’s hair and gently rub his scalp.

Usually Hawke even earned a purr, though the grateful, loving look Anders would give him afterwards was really all the return he needed on his efforts.

* * *

 

Kanders and stolen happy moments, for sinclairsolutions

\---

It had been Karl’s idea to sneak into the conservatory after lights out, saying that he had a “surprise,” and Anders nearly bounced with eagerness as he was tugged into a dark alcove, though he frowned when Karl shook his head at the younger man’s attempts to disrobe and instead pointed at the high, narrow window near the ceiling.

Anders’ excitement was quickly diverted, and he put a hand over his mouth to hide the delighted noise he made when he saw the first shooting star streak across the night sky; Anders hardly paid attention in astronomy lessons, but Karl knew the patterns of the heavens like he knew the constellation of freckles on Anders’ hands.

They stood wrapped together in silence, watching the stars fall through the tiny outlet to the world, making wishes that could never come true.

* * *

 

Mage Hawke and Anders teaching each other something new, for heinrippy

\---

Anders made a comment about it being impossible to teach an old mage new tricks while tossing his cards into the center of the table with a frown, and Hawke snorted in disbelief.

“I dunno, I think you learned that one I showed you with the warming spell easy enough,” he said with a wink, which had Anders blushing and Carver looking like he was going to be sick.

“At least tell me you taught him the electricity one.” Isabela had her answer with Hawke’s eager grin, and she spent the rest of the evening completely focused with trying to figure out loud what said “warmth trick” could entail, much to everyone else’s chagrin.

* * *

 

Fenhawke and a first kiss after a near-death experience, for athos-silvani

\---

It was a stupid mistake to leave himself in the open, and Fenris paid for it when the arrow pierced through his breastplate, only dimly hearing the yell that echoed across the clearing when Hawke saw him fall to his knees.

Anders was there, thankfully, probably the first time he had been thankful for the other man’s presence, but Fenris couldn’t form words to express such gratitude in the rush of pain and adrenaline; luckily, Hawke said enough on his behalf as she pleaded for Fenris to hang on and gripped Anders’ arm, her magic helping to fuel his.

The surge of healing was nothing compared to the way Fenris’ heart raced as Hawke bent over him, cupping his face and pressing her dry lips to his in relief, short-lived as it was when she immediately realized her trespass and pulled away, face flushed, apologizing with a self-conscious laugh, and Fenris again regretted his inability to speak, caused by an entirely different reason.

* * *

 

Zevistair for menofthedas

\---

“So,” Zevran says to Alistair, in that conniving tone of voice that makes Cousland’s ears perk up, “I heard that Templars are experienced with many varieties and sizes of swords, is this true?”

Alistair immediately launches into a recitation of all the different swords he’s handled as a recruit, from Orlesian to Tevinter; Morrigan retreats to her corner of camp with a disgusted huff, while Leliana and Cousland giggle quietly to each other at key phrases like “handling” and “girth.”

For his part, Zevran keeps an entirely straight face, nodding with interest at Alistair’s speech which becomes increasingly stuttered as he notices the elf’s fingers drift idly over his tunic and down to his belt. “I wonder if you’ve had enough experience with Antivan weaponry. Perhaps there are some things I could teach you about… ‘handling’.”

And that’s too much; Cousland snorts and falls over against her lover as they dissolve in laughter, and Alistair sputters something that doesn’t at all sound like discouragement and flees to his tent.

 


	21. Hawke's Illustrious Battle Shorts - for drawsshits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for drawsshits as an inspiration to the [marvelous art](http://drawsshits.tumblr.com/post/157052460596/un-shit-yourself) they made depicting Hawke revealing, sexy armor.

The sight of the Champion sauntering through the Gallows courtyard was a normal enough occurrence, but this visit was decidedly out of the ordinary. So much so that all business in the area stopped to watch the Champion pass, with various expressions frozen on their faces. What little armor Hawke actually wore gleamed in the sun, accentuating his tanned and muscled glory, the furred cloak draped on his shoulders competing with his chest hair for the award of “Most Luxurious Pelt.”

“I knew this was a terrible idea,” Varric muttered next to him. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Nah,” Hawke replied nonchalantly, waving at Cullen, who looked as if he’d eaten a handful of Nevarran ghost peppers. “But if I do, Izzy still loses the bet, right?”

“Even if I lose, I win, hot stuff,” the rogue said from behind Hawke, where she was avidly enjoying the scenery. She nudged Anders next to her, who was caught between staring at Hawke’s ass and glaring at blushing templars. “Ten silver says Meredith sputters like a tea kettle.”

“Personally, I hope she drops dead in shock, but I’ll take what I can get.” He nervously tugged at his sleeves, but it wasn’t as unbearable to be in the center of the pit as it normally was. Instead of working to hold back Justice from smiting everything to the ground, the spirit was unusually still, only occasionally giving off a low growl as they neared any templars, the rest of the time filling Anders’ mind with a steady, low murmur of appreciation for Hawke’s wardrobe change and various suggestions for the outfit after the excursion.

Meredith stormed out of the building with Orsino trailing behind her and her templar entourage, apparently warned about the Champion causing a commotion, and stopped so suddenly that there was a moment when Anders gleefully thought that her guards would topple into each other like dominoes and fall down the steps. “What is the meaning of this?!” she demanded.

Hawke was nonplussed, taking a casual step forward and putting his hands on his hips, framing his leather battle shorts. “Just wanted to check in, say ‘Hi,’ you know.” he said with a grin. “Feel like I should keep up with things around here, no telling when the next disaster’ll pop up.”

Meredith’s eyes went from wide to narrowed, but it was Cullen who spoke up, having gotten over his initial shock and hurried over to joined the conversation. “What in the Maker’s name are you  _wearing_?” he asked breathlessly.

“Oh, this? Traditional Fereldan armor, had it commissioned for me. Made of 100% real bear.” He winked, and Cullen made a series of choked noises. Isabela swore and shoved coins into Anders’ hip pouch.

The Knight-Commander was stoically unmoved. “I have no need for your  _services_ , Champion. Now get out and stop distracting my men from their duties.”

Hawke nearly pouted. “Just the men? Surely some of the women, too.”

Varric facepalmed as Orsino hid a laugh behind a coughing fit. Instead of lowering herself to respond to such bait, Meredith glared broadswords at Hawke and scoffed, turning and marching back into the barracks. Orsino gave the Champion a once-over and a thumbs-up before retreating.

“Well,” Hawke said, brushing his hands together. “I thought that went well.”

“Scholars will look at your diplomacy skills with wonder, that’s for sure,” Varric replied. “Now let’s get out of here before you make any other stupid decisions. Rivaini can buy you a drink with the money you’ve won of your bet.”

Hawke nodded and clapped the dwarf on the back. “Good idea. I could use it, this thing chafes something terrible.”

“Too much information,” Varric said, making a face like he ate a barrel of lemons.

“Not  _enough_  information,” Isabela countered.

Anders sighed and shook his head. “The entire  _outfit_  is ‘too much information.”

“You love it,” Hawke countered. “If not now, then later when we play ‘Escaped Apostate Gets Saved By Rugged Barbarian’.”

The mage blushed at the image.  _Nice,_ Justice echoed.


	22. Fenhanders sickfic/hurtcomfort - for protect-him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written from a prompt by the wonderful [protect-him](http://protect-him.tumblr.com/) for their generous donation to my tip jar.

It's an awful, terrible week for Fenris.

On Monday, Anders comes home with something sinus-y and raspy, defiantly claiming that he's fine while simultaneously using up all of the tissues in the house. Fenris and Hawke have to essentially beg him to stay home from the vet clinic for the next couple of days, which means they also get to trade off between doing their actual jobs and playing nursemaid to the most stubborn patient ever.

“Are you sure I don't have a fever? That thermometer must be low on battery or something. I'm burning up.” Anders sadly fans himself with one of Fenris’ photography magazines, scowling at the device as if it’s lying to him.

“Of course I'm sure, you don't feel any warmer than normal.” Fenris puts the thermometer on the coffee table and hands Anders his tea, an herbal concoction that he swears by whenever anyone in the house gets a cold. The blond tries to sniff it with a clogged nose, as if also expecting Fenris to have somehow failed to make the right tea, then grumbles and sips. Fenris ignores the complaint about it being too sweet and instead hands Anders the television remote so that he can watch his terrible Hallmark channel romance movies. He’s already moved his laptop to the sofa because he knows he’ll get no productive work done with Anders sick, but he can at least edit some of his writing.

After fetching water, cookies, tissues, the cat, Anders’ phone, and a blanket, the blond finally looks less grumpy. It's only halfway through the terrible “Ice-Sculpture Christmas” repeat when he nudges Fenris’ leg with his foot and mutters, “Sorry.”

“Nurses make the worst patients,” Fenris replies, and allows himself be pulled down to drape over Anders, Pounce jumping from the back of the couch to lay across his back. When Hawke comes home, he yells “Cuddle puddle!” and dives onto both of them, Anders and Fenris uniting to yell at him.

Anders feels better by Wednesday afternoon, hasn't bossed Fenris around all morning, actually, which is of course when Hawke comes home looking like warm death. “My head hurts,” he sniffs, and collapses onto the couch. And Fenris, again. At least Anders had the foresight to get up as soon as he’d had Hawke’s conditioned figured. This time, there _is_ a fever, and with Anders needing to go back to work, Fenris takes watch on the couch again to keep their sick idiot company.

Where Anders resists touch while ill, Hawke is an octopus, somehow folding his bulk against Fenris’ slim frame and whining in his throat every time Fenris makes to get up or do something other than pet his hair. “‘m dying,” Hawke says dramatically, throwing more used tissues in a pile under the coffee table that Fenris will clean up later, when he has control of his body again.

“You're not dying,” Fenris sighs, wishing he had some water for the tickle in his throat. He knows that Hawke will lament his fate without something to occupy him, and short of knocking him unconscious, Fenris doesn’t have much to offer. He pulls out his phone and finds a YouTube playlist of puppy videos set to ridiculous music, and Hawke makes a happy noise and snuggles somehow closer.

They both doze off, Hawke drooling into Fenris’ lap. When Anders comes home he looks at the two of them with a hand over his mouth to muffle his laugh, then takes a picture for posterity. His consideration recedes rapidly when he sees the pile of grossness under the coffee table, and Fenris jolts awake at his scolding, startling Hawke into falling off of the sofa.

Fenris can barely open his eyes when his alarm goes off on Friday. He manages to stumble out of bed and into the shower, wincing at the bathroom light and turning the water as hot as it will go, and yet somehow it does nothing to warm him. He's stubborn, refuses to acknowledge the obvious and goes to work at his desk downstairs anyway, wincing at the coffee burning his already sore throat, until he's shaken awake by Anders from where he dozed off against his keyboard. A mess of letters and commas rests in the middle of his paragraph, and he’s too annoyed with himself to swat Anders’ hand away in time for it to touch his forehead.

“Maker, you're burning up. Oh, Fen,” Anders sighs sadly.

“I'm fine,” Fenris rasps, even though he can barely keep himself upright. “Go away so I can work.”

“You mean ‘sleep on your keyboard’?” Anders retorts, and Fenris shakes his head, which is a mistake due to how the room spins.

“Just stop swaying like that, you're making me dizzy.”

Hawke helps carry Fenris upstairs to tuck him into bed, even as he protests weakly, where Anders takes his temperature and fusses over him. “It's our fault for getting you sick.”

“Not sick, just tired,” Fenris insists, though Hawke is very pleasantly warm next to him. He has to admit to himself that it does feel very nice to lie down, despite it causing a coughing fit that makes his throat burn. Anders returns with his herbal tea nonsense and, more welcomely, cold pills. After dutifully making sure Fenris at least uses the tea to take his medicine, he lays on Fenris’ other side, one arm thrown over his blanketed form. Hawke digs his phone out of his pocket and loads up Fenris’ favorite channel on YouTube, the one where the guy plays awful horror games and looks at the camera like he’s on “The Office” every time there’s a jump scare.

Fenris only lasts about five minutes into the episode before he passes out, but it's the best five minutes he's had all week. And knowing that he’ll have _both_ of his idiots to boss around on Saturday makes him think that this week may not be so bad, after all.


End file.
